Someone Who Is No Longer There
by CammyWhammy
Summary: Two things have never bothered Peter Pan; Death, and love. How curious, then, that he comes back to Neverland burdened by them? He shall quickly forget them, though, and soon Neverland will be as it were. Peter Pan is so good at forgetting things. Even his shadow. Just a first chapter to a concept I'm working on. Let me know if you want more of this.


Peter returned to a Neverland forever changed. As he landed softly on the forest floor, he felt the weight of Neverland lean sharply to the left. The stars above changed their direction, and birds squawked from the treetops, rudely awakened by the imbalance of their branches. Hook was dead, and with his death, the whole of Neverland was sent askew. Peter had come back alone. Alone and confused. His head was not clear, and usually he was so sure of himself. For the first time he felt the hollow emptiness of someone who is no longer there. Death had never been a concept which fazed him. But now, it seemed a weight in his mind, rolling about like a marble trapped inside of a box. A second marble rolled with it, it was Love. They rolled mercilessly within him, bouncing and resounding off each other, filling him dreadfully with the awful feeling of 'someone who is no longer there'.

A mermaid song began in the quiet of the night. Peter, having no one and nothing much to do, fell victim to its calling. He followed the song until the grassy soil turned to sand. The lagoon had titled too, and the water pulled to one side, drowning rocks on the left, and revealing the ocean floor to the right. The Mermaids seemed none too pleased with their new arrangements.

Peter. Peter. They all sang and hissed from the water. Their skin glowed in the moonlight, and entranced him. Peter neared the water, and the mermaids made to grab him eagerly, pulling him slowly into the depths. The mermaids hypnotized him, the glowing waters and their curious song lulled him into a trance-like submission. He almost did not notice when they pulled him completely underwater. Softly, he closed his eyes, feeling the water pulsing and heavy above him. The marbles inside of his head quieted in their rolling, and Peter felt finally at peace from the horrible thoughts. He felt happy again. Like a boy again. The mermaids continued their song.

Never grow up.

Never grow up.

The Prince of Neverland Never grows up.

We know nothing of what happened next, save that Peter awoke inside of his treehouse. It was obvious that he had been tucked in, as he was so snugly encased in his blankets.

Mother.

He thought, it must have been his mother. He wiggled his toes and found that they were cold. His feet stuck out clumsily from the blankets. He turned the blankets this way and that and found that he was too long for it either way. How strange. He could not remember what happened the night before, and he could hardly remember the memories of Wendy and Hook. How strange that there was no one inside the treehouse?

Tinkerbell came jingling to his ear, and her tune wiped his thoughts of the ominous absence of the Lost Boys. Peter smiled lovingly at her, and she smiled back. Finally, she was Peter's favorite again. No more of that awful Wendy Bird.

Peter was filled with boyish thoughts. He wanted to march with the Indians, capture creatures in the forest, climb the mountains and the trees.

Neverland shifted back, feeling itself whole and unburdened. Peter had been set right again.

Wendy was not so lucky. She had no mermaids to sing away the pain of loving Peter. She carried her heartache wherever she went, and her stories turned dark and bitter. Peter did not visit her, how could he? He had forgotten all about her. But secretly, Wendy still had hope.

At night, she would look longingly out of the window for hope they he might be there. She spent endless hours searching the sky with the moon, and in time, befriended the moon. The moon listened to her stories. The ones that made others cringe with discomfort and unease. Such raw and human emotion was not proper to discuss, but the moon was moved by them. With the moonlight shining in her room, it was easy to not see the shadows that it cast. Hiding in the right-hand corner of her room, a shadow had taken residence. Rarely an illuminated corner, the shadow lived plastered happily on the walls, and listened too, to the stories of Wendy.

It cannot be said what shape the shadow was to take, as it was buried in darkness. It could have easily been the shadow of a bear, or a boat, or a lamppost. But a lamppost would not cry and naturally neither would its shadow. And since this shadow cried at the sadness of Wendy's stories, it could not be of a lamppost. No, this was the shadow of a boy. It had been left behind, quite unintentionally, but it was stranded here nonetheless.

Nights passed on this way, and the moon waned and waxed across the sky to greet Wendy every night with a different face. The shadow stayed hidden, and wondered how long the boy would go on without noticing its absence. How long could someone go on without feeling 'someone who is no longer there'?


End file.
